


Tomorrow is a Latter Day

by nomical



Category: The Book of Mormon - Parker/Stone/Lopez
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Crisis of Faith, Existential Crisis, M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2015-11-04
Packaged: 2018-04-29 21:03:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,146
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5142386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nomical/pseuds/nomical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Elder Price has an existential crisis. And a crisis of faith. And maybe he waffles around on his sexuality a bit too.  All of which are completely Elder Cunningham's fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tomorrow is a Latter Day

**Author's Note:**

> Clearly I lost my mind (probably from listening to the soundtrack on repeat) because this plot bunny took hold and wouldn't leave. This was originally going to be 1k of fluff, Star Wars jokes, and adorable boys being awkward together. Obviously it evolved a little from there, but please don't be put off by the tags; I promise it isn't a total angst fest!
> 
> Special thanks to the Skype crew for the word wars and the company and to [ragless](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ragless/pseuds/ragless) for encouraging this monstrosity.

_The wheelchair creaked up the mountain slowly, drawn upwards by an unseen force. The thin wheels had no trouble rolling over the small stones and branches scattered across the road. To either side, as far as the eye could see, vast expanses of forest bloomed, covering the mountainside. But as tranquil as the scene seemed, something felt wrong. Kevin tried moving his legs only to discover they were unresponsive. He tried pulling at them but something kept them glued to the seat. The chair continued its climb, pace eerily similar to that of a funeral march – weighted and unchanging. Desperate to stop, he tried gripping the wheels, tugging on them with all his might, but all that gave him was twin burns on the palms of his hands. The wheels kept turning despite his firm grip and he was forced to let go lest his wrists be broken. The wheelchair slowed as they reached to top, the air noticeably thinner. Kevin tried to twist round to see how far he’d come only to see a wall of mist behind him. In front was a steep slope that tapered off at a point jutting out over the abyss. Beyond that was nothing._

_With sickening clarity, he clued into what was happening seconds before the wheels started to turn. Offering prayers to a God that wasn’t listening, Kevin closed his eyes as the wheelchair began to plummet down the incline. His fingers dug into the hard plastic of the armrests, heart beating wildly as the chair reached its top speed. He was helpless to stop the scream that escaped his lips as the wheelchair hit the edge of the cliff with a bang and launched them into the endless nothingness._

Kevin wakes with a gasp, his limbs still feeling weightless from the free fall. Needing to confirm that it had been a dream, he bolts out of bed, eager to test the responsivity of his legs. He nearly moans out loud when they obediently plant his feet on the floor and support his weight. It had all been a dream; he wasn’t helpless in real life. Well, not that helpless.

He turns to look at the bed next to his, already knowing what he’ll see. Elder Cunningham’s bed looks a wreck, but the sheets are very clearly disturbed in the same way they’d been yesterday. He knows because Elder Cunningham always starts off with the blanket tucked up to his chin and kicks it to the foot of the bed during the night, the little green creature patterned across it folded and creased in interesting configurations in the morning. Elder Cunningham has been burning the midnight oil, more often than not staying up past the recommended lights out hour of eleven well into the morning. It’s probably for the best, as Kevin would hate Elder Cunningham knowing that he’s started having nightmares – the man has more than enough to deal with without worrying about Kevin’s psyche. In fact, Kevin doesn’t even want to worry about his own psyche, let alone the distressing correlation of his nightmares starting around the same time that Elder Cunningham started being absent from their shared room. A quick glance at his watch tells him that it’s late even by Elder Cunningham’s lax standards, and he takes the familiar path from their room to the office.

Elder Cunningham is hunched over his desk in the same position he’d been in all week. The ceremonial robes hang awkwardly on his slight frame and make him look like he’s playing dress up which, strictly speaking, he is. Since finishing the first Book of Arnold, Elder Cunningham had started work on the sequel: The Non-Believers Strike Back, and had begun adhering to stricter standards of his own made-up code. Gone were the days of smart white shirts and slacks. Their new attire was that of Obi-Wan Kenobi circa A New Hope; long brown robes with simple beige scrubs underneath. Some of their fellow elders had grumbled about the wardrobe change but privately Kevin found their new clothes much more suited to the Ugandan climate, no matter how much the locals laughed at them.

Deeply immersed in his work, Elder Cunningham didn’t notice Kevin as he approached the desk. Up close, he looks tired – understandable given the circumstances of the past few months. Creating an entirely new religion (no matter how deep the roots are embedded in pop culture) and subsequently converting thousands of people to said religion was probably exhausting.

Kevin clears his throat softly before making his opening bid. “Elder Cunningham.”

Elder Cunningham drops his pen and twisted around. “Oh hey buddy, you scared me!”

“Apologies,” Kevin replies, the word far too formal and tasting all wrong in his mouth.

In a move far more astute than Kevin would have thought possible for him, Elder Cunningham seemed to pick up on his discomfort.

“C’mon Kevin, it’s just me. You can still call me Arnold.”

“Well that’s the thing, sir, I can’t.” Kevin sighs. “I mean, you’re kind of the head of the church now.”

It was an odd period of transition for all of them. Technically, they still belong to the Mormon Church and so far all their expenses were being paid for from a bank account in Utah. In practical terms, they had all but thrown out the book and were now preaching exclusively from the Book of Arnold. The church had given them permission to stay in Uganda indefinitely, citing the sheer number of conversions as a success, no matter how unorthodox the teachings. Privately, Kevin figured it was probably easier for the church to hide their shame by effectively banishing them to another continent.

Besides converting faiths, there was also the new relationship that they had yet to discuss – the one that made his inner dialogue shift from calling him ‘Arnold’ to ‘Elder Cunningham’. The thought that only weeks ago he had considered Elder Cunningham as nothing more than his ‘sidekick’ or worse, as an obstacle on his road to success, makes Kevin feel deeply ashamed. The incident with General Butt-Fucking Naked had served as a wake-up call – possibly the only wake-up call Kevin has ever responded to in his life – and he’s still trying to find his place in this strange new world where Elder Cunningham is the mouthpiece of the Lord.

All of this hung in the air between them, unsaid, and the bright smile that usually graced Elder Cunningham’s face falters.

“Just because I’m in the lead now, doesn’t mean things need to change between us.”

“But it does!” Kevin presses on. “All of my life I’ve been the one in charge – mostly because of my superior intellect and devastatingly good looks – but this is your turf now. You’re the one that beat General Butt-Fucking Naked. You’re the one that’s single-handedly stopping the spread of AIDS in Uganda. You’re the one that’s responsible for the largest number of mass conversions in Mormon history.” He scuffs at the ground with his toe. “I haven’t done anything half as incredible. I guess...I guess I’m just not used to being the side dish. It’s hard to get used to life on a slightly smaller plate.”

He feels so foolish admitting all of this. He’s nineteen, not a freaking teenager. What happened to the great Mormon standby of turning it off? There’s just something about Elder Cunningham that gets under his skin and makes him want to share his feelings.

Elder Cunningham’s mouth fell open.

“Kevin, you are not a side dish! You’re my partner and I wouldn’t be able to do any of this without you!”

Kevin can’t bring himself to look him in the eye. He knows he’s acting like a child, but knowing isn’t enough to change how he feels.

“It doesn’t feel like it,” he mumbles. “What am I doing here? How is what I’m doing helping people? I’ve never even seen Star Wars!”

Elder Cunningham gasps like the gang does in Scooby Doo when they pull off the rubber mask to discover the ghost was really Old Man Jenkins.

“Never? Not even the prequels?”

Kevin shakes his head sadly.

“See, I’m useless! I don’t even know the mythos of our religion. Maybe I should just go.”

“Go where?” Elder Cunningham’s voice is very small and it makes Kevin look up.

“Back to the States. Maybe I can convince the elders to send me out on a mission I’m more suited for. Heck, maybe they’d even consider sending me to Florida this time. It’s probably pretty difficult to screw up in a state whose motto is already ‘In God We Trust’.” He laughs but there’s no humour in it. Once upon a time, he would have jumped at the opportunity to go to Florida. Now the idea fills him with unexpected dread.

“Please don’t. Go, I mean. I’ll...I’ll write a letter to the elders asking them to send us a Blu-Ray player and copies of the movies.” Elder Cunningham shuffles through the piles on his desk, trying to find a piece of paper without writing or crude stick figure drawings adorning the borders.

“Elder Cunningham-”

“No it’s fine!” His movements are frantic now, and the notebook filled with the rough draft of The Non-Believers Strike Back plummets to the ground. Elder Cunningham doesn’t seem to notice. “I mean, they haven’t given us an official budget but I’m sure they can write this off in the taxes under work related expenditures.”

“Arnold.”

Elder Cunningham starts at the sound of his name and turns to face Kevin, eyes wild with an emotion Kevin can’t place.

“Please. I know it’s selfish but I need you here. It’s like at McDonald’s when they bring out the Two Can Dine for nine-ninety nine coupons. You’re the Big Mac to my McChicken, Kevin. The ice cream to my pie a la mode. You’re the only reason I was able to man up. I’m nothing without you.”

“The only reason any of this happened is because I left you!” Kevin brings a hand down on the desk and all of Elder Cunningham’s carefully arranged action figures topple over. “I left you and in a last ditch attempt to make myself look good I dragged General Butt-Fucking Naked to the village and nearly got us all killed. How is any of that okay?” The stark silence of the room is overwhelming and Kevin feels the sudden need to run, to go outside, to be anywhere but here confronting the thoughts that have plagued him for weeks.

“We didn’t though,” says Elder Cunningham softly.

“Didn’t what?”

“Didn’t die. Look, we’ve both done some crummy things in the past, no-” he grabs hold of Kevin’s arm and forces him to stay. Kevin tries to ignore the sudden rush of heat at the place where Elder Cunningham’s hand rests on his bare skin. “Really. You didn’t know me growing up. Converting a couple thousand Ugandans to a religion based on a 1970s sci-fi franchise is only the tip of the iceberg. But the way I see it, Butt-Fucking Naked was always coming for the village eventually, regardless of your interference. If I hadn’t of been able to spread the teachings of Marnoldism before that, he would have annihilated everyone down to the last scrotal maggot. I won't lie to you and say that you leaving didn’t hurt, but in the long run, I think it’s the best thing that could've happened to us. You leaving saved us.”

Elder Cunningham looks so earnest that Kevin feels sick to his stomach. He doesn’t deserve to have someone look at him with such naked devotion. He deserves to be punished. Punished for treating people badly his whole life just because he thought he was something special. Punished for his hubris in thinking he could save the day with nothing more than a prayer on his lips and faith in his heart. Punished for leaving his mission companion and, if he’s being completely honest with himself, the best friend he’s ever had. He deserves to have Spooky Mormon Hell Dreams for the rest of his life, even if the Mormon part doesn’t really apply anymore.

“Kevin,” Elder Cunningham interrupts his pity-party slowly, as if trying not to scare him off. “I know it might take some time for you to believe me; but I need you here. Please, I can’t do this without you.”

Self-loathing and despair are still new emotions to Kevin. Until recent events informed him of just how awful a person he is the closest he’d ever come was when he failed to win the ‘Most Likely to Succeed’ category in his grade twelve yearbook. The award had gone to Barry Zimmerman: an asthmatic, wheel-chair bound Jew whose entire being screamed participation ribbon. Kevin had never understood what his classmates saw in Barry that he lacked. His ‘Best Smile’ and ‘Most Attractive’ awards aside, Kevin had felt like a real loser that day.

It was weeks later, and after hours spent obsessively thinking about Barry and stalking him on the internet, that he found out Barry had an IQ of 130 and had been working on projects for the American military since he was fourteen. Kevin had never known this because he’d simply never given Barry the time of day. It probably should have been a wake-up call for him, but eighteen years of believing in false greatness doesn’t go away overnight. He remembers being unable to shake thoughts of Barry all summer and right up to the point when he started at the training center. There he’d gained a new peer group, a new flock that bolstered his self-esteem and drove all thoughts of Barry from his mind. Hearing the elders give the introduction speech reaffirmed his belief in himself (though looking back on it, they were probably trying to reaffirm his belief in God) and his ability to be incredible. He no longer lay awake at night trying to tally up his and Barry’s wins, trying to calculate who was further ahead and whether Barry really deserved his award.

When it comes right down to it, Kevin isn’t a particularly good Mormon. Sure, he’d had the Spooky Mormon Hell Dream that time with the doughnut, but that had been God warning him not to eat refined sugars. The nightmares he’s been having lately are nothing like he’s ever experience before. Maybe it’s God’s way of punishing him for starting to doubt. More likely, it’s his conscience finally kicking in after nineteen years of inactivity. He’s got a lot of retroactive guilt to feel. And right now his conscience won’t let him focus on anything but Arnold.

Arnold is nothing like Barry. Sure, they’re both geeks in need of some major personal grooming, but Arnold is a man of faith and Barry a man of sacrifice. Arnold is very clearly flourishing in his chosen profession and given his teen whiz-kid standing with the military, Kevin has no reason to doubt Barry is flourishing in his. They don’t know each other, but Kevin has a suspicion that Barry’s success wouldn’t bother Arnold in the slightest. And maybe that right there is his next big lesson to learn. If God sent him to Uganda to learn humility, maybe God wants him to stay with Arnold to learn how to like himself again.

“Okay,” he says, unable to come up with anything more intelligent. “I don’t believe you but okay.”

Arnold smiles at him like he hung the moon.

“It’s okay, you will one day,” he says confidently. “Why are you up anyway?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Kevin shrugs, and technically that’s not a lie. “Decided you’ve probably written enough for one day and came to drag you back to bed. I mean your bed,” he adds hastily.

He tries not to read anything into the way Arnold’s eyes crinkle at that.

“I’m still far too awake to go to bed now, but if you’re having trouble sleeping why don’t you stay up and help me?”

“Help you with...”

“With the second book!”

“I already told you I haven’t seen Star Wars.”

Arnold waves a hand in the universal gesture of ‘pshhh’. “Star Wars is just the jumping off point. The stories in this book need to have substance, meaning! They need to teach people how to be decent human beings. The rest is all window dressing.”

“I’m still not sure I’m much help on that front,” says Kevin softly.

Arnold glares at him. “No more sulking tonight. Now pull up a chair and help me write God’s will.”

He turns to the desk and frowns, begins shuffling papers in a way that makes it obvious he didn’t see the notebook fall to the floor during their discussion. Kevin kneels and retrieves the book, offering it up to Arnold like a suppliant on his knees. Or a groom proposing to his bride. Kevin is struck with a sudden vision of Arnold in a white ball gown. The image is...not unpleasant.

He’s brought back to reality by the realization that Arnold hasn’t taken the book from him yet. He’s frozen, staring at Kevin, his gaze darting between Kevin’s eyes and lips. Kevin stands and places the notebook on the desk without a word, Arnold’s eyes following him up and stopping somewhere around his midsection. Kevin’s stomach gives a funny sort of flop and he coughs awkwardly, suddenly gaining a new appreciation for the loose-fitting, Jedi inspired sleepwear.

“I’ll go find that chair,” he says, his voice slightly more raspy than normal.

Arnold nods in agreement, a pink tinge high on his cheeks. Kevin takes his time dragging the wicker chair across the room, legs stuttering and grating against the worn wooden boards. By the time he’s settled himself their moment has passed and Arnold has found his page, pen tapping thoughtfully on his chin.

“I’m a little bit lost when it comes to expanding on the actual gospel,” he admits. “It’s one thing to make up stories about Joseph Smith having sex with frogs to cure Aids, but to write the tenants of a new religion. I mean, I haven’t even read the prequel,” he snorts his way through a braying laugh and Kevin can’t help but chuckle along with him. It’s good to see some of the mysticism around his friend removed, even if he did just basically admit to being a heathen.

“What have you got so far?” Kevin scoots his chair closer.

“More of the same really; don’t have sex with babies, don’t mutilate female genitalia, worship God, blah blah blah.”

Kevin successfully resists the internalized urge to shiver at his friend's blaspheme. After all, the old rules are out the window now.

“I think where I'm having the most trouble is deciding how far to push it. I mean, in my heart of hearts, I know God just wants people to treat each other with kindness and be happy. But there's a lot of stuff in the Book of Mormon that goes against that. Stuff that I didn't even know about. Like, until Elder McKinley sang for us that one time, I didn't know it was a sin to be gay.”

He looks sideways at Kevin like he's seeking approval for some unspoken confession. Something unclenches in Kevin's heart and all of his previous hesitation and feelings of worthlessness melt away. In a blessed moment of clarity, he knows what his friend needs to hear.

“I think you know exactly what you need to do. It's your religion, Arnold. If you think God wants happiness and equality for all his children then you write it! Forget about the Book of Mormon and just do your own thing. Do or do not, there is no try.”

A brilliant smile breaks out across Arnold’s face. "I thought you said you hadn't seen the movies?"

"I read it off a t-shirt," says Kevin sheepishly. "It had the same little green guy on it from your sheets."

"One day soon you'll learn all about Master Yoda young Padawan," Arnold pats his hand. "But that settles it: no more turning it off. From now on God doesn't care who you love to as long as all parties are happy about it."

"Elder McKinley will certainly be happy," Kevin chuckles.

"Just Elder McKinley?" Arnold asks softly.

"And…others, I'm sure," Kevin stutters.

"I'm pretty pleased about it." Elder Cunningham shrugs. "I'll finally get a chance to publish all the Luke Skywalker slash Han Solo fanfiction I've been writing."

There's a glint in Arnold’s eye Kevin is certain he's never seen before and his brain is shamefully slow at making the connection.

“You? But what about Nabulungi? I thought you two were…" he trails off, completely out of words.

"What about Nabulungi? I mean, sure she was my first baptism but it's not like we're married or anything. I mean, if I had to marry everyone I've baptised I'd have enough husbands and wives to make a small army. And I've baptised babies - you can't marry a baby!"

"No, obviously!" replies Kevin, feeling wrong-footed. "I just meant, I thought you two were together."

"Nah, after we cleared the air about the whole lying thing she and Elder Church started going out. Something about bonding over dead mothers. Don’t get me wrong, she’s still the hottest piece of chocolate I’ve seen on this continent. But it wouldn’t be fair to her if we started dating while I still had feelings for someone else."

"Someone else?" Kevin's pulse quickens.

"Mmm," Arnold nods. "Someone who’s had a rough go of it recently but is more important to me than he'll ever know."

"Do I know this person?"

"I think you used to." Arnold leans forward.

Kevin mirrors his movements like a moth drawn to a flame. "It might take some time for me to find him again."

There's barely any space left between them now. "It would be an honour to help you reconnect with him."

He shouldn't be surprised when Arnold moves the extra inch and closes the gap between them. His lips are far softer than they look and even though their noses are crushed together awkwardly, it's as close to heaven on earth as Kevin can imagine.

They break apart slowly, neither one willing to pull away completely, and come to rest with their foreheads pressed together. Arnold has one hand on Kevin’s knee, the other one curled around the back of his neck.

"I'm really glad I didn't misread this one," Arnold laughs. "I've gotten so good at making things up sometimes it's hard to tell fantasy from reality."

Kevin tilts his chin up and kisses him again. He places a hand on the notebook and looks straight into Arnold’s eyes. "I swear, on the Book of Arnold, that this is one hundred percent reality."

"Oh good," Arnold sighs. He links his arm with Kevin's and forces him to draw their chairs closer together. "Now what do you say we write some gospel? I'm sure you've got oodles of ideas just waiting to come out."

"I never did answer your first question, back on the day we met," Kevin ducks his head, "but I have to say I was always partial to a bit of Kirk slash Spock."

Arnold gasps in mock outrage. "You've been holding out on me buddy! I never would have taken you for a Trekkie."

"Actually, we prefer to be called 'Trekkers' - it adds a level of sophistication."

Arnold snorts. "You are such a nerd."

"And proud of it. Who knows, maybe one day my knowledge of the Prime Directive will save a village from a ruthless mercenary."

"Crazier things have happened," Arnold shrugs. "How do you want to work it in? Don't go interfering in matters that aren't yours? Don't colonize a region that already belongs to someone else?"

"I was thinking more 'don't play God and just roll with things as they happen'."

Arnold beams at him. "I think that's a great start." He slides the notebook in front of Kevin and hands him the pen.

It might just be all the talk of Star Trek, but Kevin has a sudden flash of what the future might look like. Hundreds of years from now, people are going to be looking at holo projections of this pen in their space museums and know that it was this pen that brought about world peace. He can feel it right down to his bones and knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that this will be his legacy; aiding the Prophet Arnold in writing the greatest book of all time. He takes the pen with a smile and touches the tip to the paper. As if he can hear his thoughts, Arnold throws an arm around his shoulder and gives him a quick hug.

"You and me; we're gonna change the world together."


End file.
